


Whole Again

by JustJim, Useless_girl



Series: Home Is Where the Spark Is [10]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aged up characters, Alpha Derek, Angst, Blood, Dark, Detective Stiles, Drama, Emissary in Training Stiles, Epic Romance, Gore, Hurt/Comfort, Insanity, Love, M/M, Magic, Magic Stiles, PTSD, R (explicit), Slash, Soulmates, Spark Stiles, Supernatural - Freeform, Switch Stiles, Trauma, Triggers, Violence, Werewolves, canon and non-canon elements, emissary bond, emissary stiles, m/m - Freeform, mate bond, matured Stiles, post-Teen Wolf, sterek, switch derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:33:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24351385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustJim/pseuds/JustJim, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Useless_girl/pseuds/Useless_girl
Summary: Bringing a tortured and fractured soul back from Hell itself is no small task, but the mates have been working towards this for months. They have to try. And it’s time…
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Home Is Where the Spark Is [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1607563
Comments: 10
Kudos: 36





	1. 10: Whole Again - Part 1

**Note:** This is the 10th part of the “[Home Is Where the Spark Is](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1607563)” series. To understand better what’s going on, we recommend reading the previous entries. Enjoy!

 **Fandoms:** Teen Wolf, Sterek

 **Characters/relationships:** Stiles Stilinski/Derek Hale, Marin Morrell

 **Rating/category:** R (explicit), supernatural, post-Teen Wolf, canon and non-canon elements, slash, M/M, Sterek, hurt/comfort, dark, angst, aged up characters, Spark Stiles, Magic Stiles, Emissary Stiles, Emissary in training Stiles, detective Stiles, matured Stiles, Alpha Derek, switch Derek, switch Stiles, drama, epic romance, love, magic, soulmates, Mate bond, Emissary bond, werewolves, PTSD, trauma, insanity, violence, blood, gore, triggers

 **Summary:** Bringing a tortured and fractured soul back from Hell itself is no small task, but the mates have been working towards this for months. They have to try. And it’s time…

 **Disclaimer:** This is a product of our imagination and was written only for entertainment and fun. We don’t profit from this fanfiction and we mean no harm or disrespect against any real person, culture or custom that might appear in the story. All original pictures and fictional characters used in the story belong to their respective owners and credit goes to them.

* * *

**  
** _[Midnightgirl edit](https://www.deviantart.com/midnightgirl/art/You-Found-Me-468014105) _

**Home Is Where the Spark Is  
** _By Just Jim & Useless-girl_

**10: Whole Again – Part 1**

Stiles was nervous as he was sitting on the concrete floor further away from the parked Camaro and Jeep. All the ingredients and his notes were lying in a painfully straight line on his left. Candles, herbs, a mortar, a lighter, a bowl of mountain ash, two warded talismans and a ritual blade. He was flipping a piece of white chalk in his hand while lost in thoughts. Neither Derek, nor Deaton were present. The former was upstairs in the loft, waiting. Probably pacing like a caged animal. Waiting for Stiles to call for him. The vet stayed in the animal clinic. Maybe to maintain his neutrality or because he was confident they can pull this off on their own. Or maybe he was saving his own ass in case something went wrong. One could never know with Deaton.

The last two weeks were leading up to this point. To this fateful night. The big showdown. And it made Stiles nervous and jumpy. Even if by then he knew the steps and words of the ritual by heart. He made sure of that because there was no room for mistakes when you plan to open a portal to Hell to get back a missing soul. It was going to be the most difficult thing he’d ever done with his magic so far. But he had to believe without a hint of doubt that he can do it. The desire to help Derek was like a mantra to him, strengthening his belief and control over the magic.

Since the rut and that talk in Stiles’ bedroom, things got somewhat better between him and Derek, but some tension stemming from their miscommunication and different opinions stayed between them. But at least they managed to get physically closer again. Hugs, cuddling and kissing sessions were back on the table, but they didn’t force anything else yet. Even if they both missed each other.

Stiles painstakingly paid attention to keep the magical balance between them and trained relentlessly with Deaton to perfect his control and learn new useful ways to use his magic in case he had to protect them from whatever might get too close to the portal. And also to prepare himself how to search and call for Derek’s missing soul when the time comes. Although he kinda doubted that one could really prepare for something like that. That’s where Deaton reminded him of one of his biggest strengths: improvisation. That’s where his quick thinking came in handy countless of times in the past and hopefully will help him out now too, if needed.

All these, though, didn’t mean Stiles wasn’t feeling like going into this half-blind. Yes, they knew how to open that portal, theoretically he was going to be able to use his magic to pull the missing soul part to them through the bond, but... they couldn’t really know what might lie behind the opened portal. Okay, yes... of course, demons, Devils and other terrors, but one could never fully prepare.

Besides the extra wards to keep those creatures on the other side, the only solution to protect themselves as much as possible was to wear his talismans and draw up the very complicated magic circle with care. For that he needed time and no interference or distractions. Not even from his mate. That’s why they chose the ground floor of Derek’s building, which served as a mostly empty garage with enough space for the ritual. No one was going to bother them there and Stiles had time to work fully focused.

No amount of meditation or mental preparing would be able to fully dissolve Stiles’ nervousness, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. It kept him aware instead of lulling himself into false safety. He was going to keep his guards up all the while and finally give free rein to his magic – which was bubbling expectantly under his skin, seeping somewhat out of him to swirl around him like amber flames being blown by some non-existent wind.

Taking a few deep breaths, he cleared his mind as much as he could. When he picked up the chalk and began drawing up the circle, his heartbeat was steadier and he got to work.

It took him around an hour to draw up everything because he double-checked the lines and ancient, forbidden symbols to make sure there was no mistake left in it. The circle wasn’t finished yet, but he could already feel the shift in the air as he lit and placed the black candles to their places then ground the herbs and lit them in the mortar. The next step was to reach out for Derek through the bond to call him down, which he did and waited.

The past weeks had been calm, in a way. Stiles had been busy training and Derek had met with a line of contractors to show them the plans for the loft to eventually pick one he had a good feeling about and had a fair price for the work needed to be done. Rewiring the electricity, updating the pipes, making the bedroom livable and cleaning the walls. It wasn't that much works since Derek had done most of it himself, it was the rest of the building needing most of it. He was having the contractor do the entire stairwell on all floors and update the elevator to be up to code. The rest of the work he wanted to do himself, not that he was going to make all the apartments ready to move into. Clean them up, rewire, paint the walls and wood works, that sort of things. The contractor was going to start next week, and Derek had it all written down. Everything had been written down. From his bank accounts to custody of Elizabeth.  
  
His soul was going to be coming straight from Hell, and it had been there for decades in Hell-time so the chances of the Hale being considerably sane when it was back... it wasn't looking good. He didn't think he'd die, but he was very sure that he wouldn't be in any shape to take care of Elizabeth yet again. It seemed to be becoming a regular event, something she was getting used to. However this was needed. Ever since the rut, Derek had undone some of Stiles' work. He wasn't feeling as much anymore and what he felt had been mostly Stiles' emotions. It was a strain on his mate, on his magic, and with that on their relationship.  
  
Deaton and Stiles both had been very certain this was going to work, this ritual. Derek hadn't been as eager to get it going. He couldn't help but wonder _how many times can a broken thing break?_  
  
Too many times. Too often.  
  
And he was going to willingly be broken some more. It plagued him, haunted him in his dreams, the knowledge that half of his soul had remained in Hell. Decades of being a personal toy to torture and break over and over. He did fear it. The nightmares had returned, not violent as before but haunting memories of fire as it took his breath away, melted his flesh, burned away at his humanity. He didn't wake up screaming, he woke up with wet tears streaming down his face and the need to shower the filth of ashes and blood away.

The taste of sooth lingered in his mouth all day so he kissed Stiles as often as he could to soak in some warmth, to chase away the bad taste, to pretend he wasn't suffering. It ached inside, an emptiness pulsing with a terrible cold, trapped with his mate's magic to keep him warm, to give him feelings even though it was a strain on the human, even though Derek needed more, like a leech because every day with half a damaged soul was a day too long and he knew, _knew_ that one day he was going to wake up and not feel at all unless...  
  
Unless he would get his lost half back. As he had told his friend Rowena, he'd rather be broken and feel too much than not feel anything at all. And he'd heal, he was going to overcome this as well and heal and find his footing again.  
  
He was a survivor, he was used to breaking. He was used to having his legs pulled from under him each time he attempted to walk. Derek Hale would rather crawl and keep on moving instead of curling up and admit defeat. He'd rather have a head full of fire and a mouth full of ashes for years to come than to not have anything at all. He had a family now, reasons to not be a bastard without a soul.  
  
_How many times can a broken thing break?_  
  
As often as it’s needed.  
  
With that resolve kept firmly in mind, Derek walked over to the elevator to join Stiles downstairs when he felt the tug calling for him. With sure steps he found his mate looking like the druid he was training to become, so he nodded. They had to do this, they were going to do this and they'd succeed. Whatever was going to become of it, they were going to do it together.

While Stiles waited, he recalled the nights he woke up to a crying Derek. How the dark emptiness and memories were getting stronger in his mate with each day once the date of the ritual was set. He could feel the desperation in those kisses, Derek's need to be close to him, touch him. And he never once flinched away or denied him. Those all urged Stiles on to work harder, to prepare everything to make this a success. He and Deaton have made preparations for after the soul was back too. In hopes of making it easier for Derek to reconnect with his lost side and to stay relatively sane. Neither of them thought that it was going to be easy. Not with that part staying so long in Hell in that dimension's time. More hardships were guaranteed, but Stiles knew... felt it in every bone in his body that this was something they had to do. To restore the balance for real. Because until now – since they bonded and used his magic for that – it’s been a temporal balance. His magic was constantly protecting the remaining soul, drawing from the vast amount he and Derek shared. But that couldn't stay like that forever. They both knew.  
  
Stiles also knew that his mate was making preparations of his own. Concerning the renovation and also his life. He was preparing for the worst and although it chocked Stiles up every time he thought about it, he also understood why he did that and accepted it.  
  
And now as Derek was walking towards him, he felt pride welling up in his chest. There was no fear in him, just a strong resolve and determination. He was the strongest werewolf and man he'd ever known and he also felt proud of being able to call himself his mate. With a tiny smile he waited until Derek got there and reached up with his free hand to pull him close by his nape for a long, emotion-filled kiss, his magic curling around the wolf with familiarity. Stiles wanted Derek to know everything he felt for this man, to give him comfort and support and a promise to stay with him no matter what. Everything he couldn't say out loud.  
  
Then he let their foreheads touch for a few moments longer, inhaling his mate deeply, before finally letting him go and looking into his eyes with a nod.  
  
"Once you step inside the circle, I'll close the ash line and join you. When the magic activates, we'll both be stuck in the circle until I break it. Nothing comes in or out. The portal will open inside it too to contain whatever might want to come through," he explained and motioned with his hand towards a round smaller circle within the circle in the middle, surrounded by symbols.  
  
Once Derek took his place, Stiles raised his other hand which has been holding the handful of ash in it and closed the outer circle. When that happened, he became more focused than ever. The energies were already changing beneath his sneakers as he put the remaining ash back into the bowl and picked up the ritual blade. The light of the candles glinted on it as he carefully – not to smudge the chalk lines – stepped in front of Derek to take and lift his hand.  
  
"You'll be the focus of the circle and it will feed from your blood and my magic," he said as he closed Derek's hand around the blade firmly then pulled it out to make a deep enough cut on his palm so that as he turned his hand, the blood coated the blade. Stiles' face was the calm, focused mask of a druid as he nodded satisfied and splashed a few drops towards all four cardinal points in the circle. The second the last drops landed on the lines, they began shimmering in red as the circle activated.  
  
Once he put the blade down, he stood a few steps to Derek's right side, staying behind him. "Keep our connections open, no matter what. I'll feed the circle and the portal too along with you. I need our connection to search for your soul through it. Keep it open," he warned then took a deep breath and exchanged one last look with his mate before opening himself up and letting his magic loose, eyes immediately changing colors to a bright amber as the first words of the spell channeled their powers into the circle, releasing a massive wave of energy that started gathering not far in front of Derek to soon form the portal.

Stiles was still convinced he could ease the suffering once the soul was back, but he hadn't been there when Derek had returned from three years of Hell with a partial soul, he hadn't seen the bad months. Only the aftermath. Three years was nothing compared to decades of torture, so Derek knew there wasn't going to be much left of him for a while. He didn't doubt his ability to bounce back at some point, didn't doubt that his friends were going to help him through it. His calm visage wasn't as calm on the inside, his heart was hammering and he wasn't ready for any of this. Could never be ready for it. But it had to be done, as simple as that.  
  
"I love you," Derek whispered, wanting to say that, not sure if the druid was even able to hear it but he'd feel it, because their connection was open and pulsing. It could be weeks or months before he would have a sane thought again so he had to say it now, now while he still could. The futile thought was a realistic one, Stiles deserved to know.  
  
The younger man was concentrating hard on opening the portal, but for a moment he thought he'd heard Derek say something that he's been longing to hear from him for a while. But he wasn't sure if it really happened or was only wishful thinking. What he was sure about, though, were the warm emotions flowing from Derek for a moment. He treasured those, but then focused his mind and magic more on their task. Opening a portal to Hell was no small business after all.  
  
The circle formed, a swirling mass of energy gathered together to create a doorway to a realm they had no business meddling with and it was a direct flashback to the time he was taken. All around them the electric feeling intensified, as if they were about to be swooped up by a tornado, which wasn't that far from the truth. Time was going to be limited for Stiles to find the soul in an endless pool of souls. If they were discovered, they'd get dragged down there, no matter if they belonged or not. That was the punishment for opening a portal and nobody cared if they deserved to be there or not. Derek's soul had been hidden away there as well when werewolves don't even go to Hell after death. They belong in Purgatory, nor Heaven or Hell should have any claim on them.  
  
It opened, and Derek forgot to breathe, the familiar scents assaulting him: mouth full of ashes, breath full of fire. A desolate wasteland of pain. _He wasn’t ready._ But he had to be. For Stiles, for Elizabeth _. Don't shy away, keep it open, it would all end soon enough._  
  
But he knew, it only just started.

"Don't panic. I'm here with you!" he shouted at Derek once the last words of the spell were uttered and the oppressing scent of sulfur and unimaginable heat lashed out on them from the rift they managed to create between the two worlds. Of course, Stiles knew that his wolf wasn't ready, but they had to do this and quickly formed a shield from his magic to protect them from the stench and heat somewhat.  
  
He only got a glimpse of the vast burning landscape, the sulfur scratching his throat and making his brightly glowing eyes burn. The screams of the tortured souls shook him to the core, but he had to focus. So he closed his eyes and concentrated on his other senses and their bond. He had to close out Derek's stirred up emotions right now, because he had to hurry.  
  
The druid whispered the ancient Gaelic words Deaton had taught him. It made the circle glow a brighter red under them and he could feel Derek's blood on the floor, nearly tasted it on his tongue. In his mind's eye that blood formed a connection with both the portal and Derek's remaining soul and Stiles gently touched that idle string, fusing his magic into it. As if it got invigorated and something that have purpose now, the invisible strand seemed to weave stronger and moved past the open portal in a speed neither of them could really comprehend. Stiles knew it was searching for the energy that resonated on the same level. Derek's soul.  
  
While he was keeping the portal and the string steady, Stiles could feel as if being watched all along. But to his surprise he didn't feel malice against them, so maybe that other dimension was just starting to mess with his head and senses. There was no time to dwell on that, though, because he could feel other presences flocking nearer. Those were dark with violent intents. Probably some demons sniffed out the opening to another realm.

All Derek could really do was stand there, being a shield between Stiles and the portal, which was the only reason why he was willing to stand there so quietly with all that was coming from the portal. There were no demons yet, no hellhounds running their way, but it was only for now, they were going to soon enough. Especially with that strange stream searching for his soul. Could others see that as well, was it as visible to them as it was to Derek and Stiles? Because that was dangerous, they could try to tug on it and that no doubt was going to harm Stiles and his magic.  
  
His soul wasn't locked away anymore, it should be easier to reach it now. Question was if they would find it in time. He didn't want the portal to remain open once there were actual demons because he could fight as long as he kept their connection opened but... he could be pulled back into Hell and then all of their hard work would be for nothing. Stiles would try to get him out of there if that happened, risking his own life. Would he die when Derek did, even when in Hell? He didn't want to find out.  
  
Back, far away, dark shapes were looming and the wolf's nostrils flared. Danger was approaching. Stiles was chanting, they couldn't talk, but he knew his mate saw them as well, or sensed them since his chanting became more urgent. Derek tensed up, got ready to fight if needed.

Stiles could feel Derek's tension bleeding into him with each passing moment more and more and his words slurred together from the fast pace he was chanting. It didn't matter to the magic, though. His intent and belief stayed clear and strong, directing the thread towards that faint energy he could already sense. It was Derek's soul. Not captured as they thought it was. But why? For what purpose? More torture?  
  
Those were questions Stiles didn't have time to think about, so he continued, pushing more of his magic into the thread and keeping the portal open. It was a considerable amount now. Never before did he release so much of it and it seemed that the magic was balancing and steadying itself this way too, taking some from Derek's being as well. It felt like unlocking a gate, tapping into a secret preserve which made them both stronger, more powerful. If he let himself, Stiles could have gotten drunk on that amount of power, but he wasn't that kind of a Spark. He remembered the cautious tales from the book on Sparks. How easily all this could tip towards dangerous.  
  
And then suddenly...  
  
"Gotcha!" Stiles exclaimed kinda excited as their invisible thread connected and wrapped around the fragile soul with utmost care and he began to pull on it gently but quickly. He was praying hard that no being would be able to actually see that thread, because he had no idea if it would hold if something tried to cut it. So he worked as fast as the delicate maneuver allowed him.  
  
His brightly glowing eyes snapped open at one point, though, when those dark presences were pushing closer and he felt Derek prepare for it with fangs and claws and probably alpha eyes on display.

"Won't let them through," Stiles grunted, the wards in front of the portal sparking to life in a burning amber color. The constant screams sounded louder in his head, the foul odor of sulfur getting suffocating, but he was just pulling and pulling the soul closer to the portal, even if his eyes widened once the terrors of Hell were starting to take shape as they were getting closer, rushing towards the portal like rabid dogs.  
  
It's gonna be a close call...

His soul... it was this oddly white orb-like thing. It looked so innocent, almost pretty. It wasn't as bright as it should be, though. Which showed it wasn't in a great condition after all this time it had been down in Hell. The rune on his arm burned brightly, magic drawing from him as well because they were already connected through the ritual. Derek didn't fight it, let it take all it needed, they were going to build up reserves again at some point.  
  
It wasn't a strain on him, since it wasn't his to have, though, he could feel the elated power coming from his mate, it was a lot for him to take in. It was used right away but still, it was a lot to handle. He glanced back at his mate, seeing those eyes flared up like they were on fire.  
  
_Won't let them through_ … Sure. It seemed like they were about to, though, it wasn't even minutes, it was seconds. Derek didn't call out for the human, not wanting to break his concentration when he was working so very hard, giving it his all and the soul was right there! Derek didn't dare to touch it, to break the fragile hold the magic had on it as he crept closer to the portal. If they were going to come through, they were not going to get Stiles. Eyes fiery red, claws out, the wolf roared out a challenge, ear-piercing shrieks welcoming him. They were about to jump through, not focused on the soul because maybe they couldn't get at it?  
  
Derek remembered something about hellhounds collecting the souls. Not everyone down there had the power to get the souls, not even in Hell itself. But they could get at them.  
  
"Stiles! Yank it, use whatever you have got, yank it in and close it!"  
  
Or he was going to jump in and hold them off. For Stiles.

Thick sweat drops were running down on the emissary’s temples and neck, his clothes starting to stick to him, but the magical wind brought some release regarding that. Though, not to the pace and intensity which made his whole body strain against it all. Each fast heartbeat felt as if someone was hammering against his rib cage. His mouth was dry, throat scratchy and voice hoarse as tremors ran through his limbs. His rune was burning as well and this time both his tattoos too. The anti-possession one on his chest, and the tree on his back, golden roots and veins crawling up on his neck, side of his face and even his arms. He kinda looked like someone moments away from bursting into flames.  
  
His ears were ringing from all the screams and growls and shrieks, but Derek's voice cut through all of them, helping to focus and push another – this time smaller – amount of energy into the thread. A glowing hand reached out into the air in front of him and curled around it for one last tug.  
  
He was already bravely stepping in front of Derek to face the horde of monsters snarling and jumping towards them (a picture that burned into his mind) when the soul finally passed through the portal. Stiles' hands were held out in front of him in an instant, glowing as if he had reached into melted gold or something of sorts, the veins throbbing brightly in the same color, reaching up to his elbows now.  
  
As the soul floated past his shoulder, his chanting switched from the calmer, gentle urging one to a strict demanding tone. It wasn't hard to guess that he was commanding the portal to close properly while disintegrating their bond to it.  
  
A skeleton-like demon's clawed hand just got burned by one of the protecting runes and it jumped back shrieking when the portal finally collapsed into itself and closed, abruptly cutting off the ear-splitting sounds. Stiles' ears kept ringing in the sudden silence, the scent of smoke and sulfur and rotting lingering in the air as he was panting and shaking, eyes wide.

They did it! It was unbelievable, but they did it!  
  
He turned around with wide glowing eyes, mouth hanging open as he was trying to get enough air into his lungs without coughing. His gaze was right away drawn to the calmly floating white orb in the air between them, the traces of his magic still floating around it protectively.  
  
Then his eyes darted to Derek's a little baffled. "We did it!!" he voiced his thought hoarsely. "What… what now?"

The deafening roars of Hell were cut off suddenly, so sudden that Derek’s ears were still ringing with the aftershock of all the violence of sounds. Sweltering heat lingered around them for a moment before the cold winter wind from California blew it away, cooling the sweat on their heated skin in a cool shiver. Derek's shirt still clung to him, making goose bumps appear all over. Well, at least he didn't have to get back to Hell. That was something. Taking back his soul from Hell wasn't the same as getting stuck there with his actual body. Both were dangerous to his mental health but only one of them was dangerous to his actual body. Even a werewolf's healing wouldn't be able to stand up to the torture for years on end. It would slow down; it would be painful and could even cause permanent damage if he had been down there long enough. And he knew all that from personal experience.  
  
Derek's eyes went to his mate immediately, checking him over for any signs of collapsing because that must have been one immense strain on the human body. Stiles was drenched in sweat as well, a little too pale for the wolf's liking, with his cheeks flushed from exertion. The eyes were still looking like Stiles had swallowed fire and was burning from the inside out because the magic hadn't settled, or what was left of it anyways. He was worse for wear but not as much as Derek had feared, though, he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. If this kind of ritual didn't strain him as much, then how much power was really in there? A whole lot. And then some.  
  
Pale green eyes were drawn to his soul. It hovered there, trapped by magic so it wouldn't drift off. He had always imagined it to be ugly, to look like everything he hated about himself. A ball of wood and stone and misery. Nothing about it told the story of the time in Hell, gave no indication what he was in for. Derek knew though. That small orb was going to be the cause of perhaps a lifetime of insanity if he couldn't get it under control, if he couldn't handle what it had been through.

"Now you have to seal it inside of me." It was probably going to be instant, the memories flooding him the moment that soul was put back where it belonged. "Look Stiles... I know you think that what I feel for you is a mirror of your feelings for me. But you fueled it, you didn't start it. And though I was starting to feel less and less, I have to say it. Because we both know Eichen House might not be a bad place for me very soon. And I need you to know that I will fight it, I will do my best to claw my way out of the damaged parts, if you give me time. I've never had anybody move for me, give up his career and home for me to willingly spend the rest of their life with me. You've shown me what it's like to enjoy sex, you've given that joy up for a while for my rut and now you're giving me my soul back and going to take care of our kid and me. You've given me so much and...” His voice broke, he probably had never talked as much as he did now. This was usually Stiles' territory, the long rants. "I love you."

There was a never before felt kind of tiredness in Stiles' bones, the magic still shimmering in every pore, but at the same time he was buzzing with relief and adrenaline. His mind was firing off thoughts faster than usual, trying to comprehend what just went down. The stench, the sounds, the sights and what they accomplished to do! Each of the books they studied with Deaton, each legend and tale (and even modern movies) had said how difficult and nearly impossible it is to open a portal to a dimension like Hell. And now there they were... They did just that and now had Derek's soul!  
  
Stiles wanted to babble all these thoughts out, disbelief still written all over his face. But there was also satisfaction and relief there. It was as if at least a little weight was taken off his being, even if he knew that the hardships were far from over.  
  
But all his words about stealing from Hell and seeing those monstrosities have died on his lips. Both from imagining that Derek had to endure the intense heat, the smells, the sounds and the torture for three years in that awful place; and from what he began talking about.  
  
Stiles' amber eyes drifted back from the innocent-looking orb to his mate. A whole other bunch of thoughts started stumbling over each as he listened. Like... yes, he did kinda think that at least a part of what Derek felt for him were his own feelings reflecting through the bond. Or that he was never going to allow him step a foot into that god-awful Eichen House. The memory of it sent a shiver down his spine. And of course he knew Derek was going to fight. He was a born survivor, who'd never give up. Especially if there was an important goal for him to reach. In this case Stiles and _their_ daughter. It was the first time Derek called Beth like that and it melted Stiles' heart so much that what the wolf said next left his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide.  
  
Did Derek Hale just confess his love for him _in words_?!  
  
Apparently, because the light blush on the high cheekbones were just as telltale as the look Derek gave him and what he felt through their bond.  
  
And then all of a sudden the brightest smile lit up Stiles' face which has been carrying some kind of gloom on it ever since the rut. But that seemed to completely dissolve with that smile, the last remaining walls melting away between them and the next moment he found himself right in front of Derek. Pale hands with amber veins reached up to caress the bearded face, the glowing eyes finding his wolf's as that warmth, which Stiles associated with love, flooded him, making his heart skip a few beats just to try and compensate it with a few quicker ones afterwards.  
  
"Derek..." he whispered, voice hoarse and eyes welling up with a few happy tears. "I love you too. So much..." His voice and words failed him to elaborate, but there was no real need for that anyways. Derek knew it already. But it was... so different to finally say it out loud. It gave their feelings for each other more weight. Made it even more real...  
  
His kiss was sudden and desperate and sloppy, but full of his deep love for this man. _His man_. The only person he ever really wanted since he was a teen. His soul mate.

There had been so many times where Derek had wanted to say it, but hadn't been ready to say it. He wasn't the type of guy who said it often but when he did it, he meant it. There weren't many he had actually said it to and they had all been family, Stiles was different. Stiles was his life and he had to have said it at least once before that hovering orb was going to be shoved back into his body. Seeing his mate's reaction made it even more worth it. That disbelief, the wide eyes and then that incredibly bright smile which only made him seem like he was even more on fire.  
  
Warm hands grabbed his face, the magic humming underneath the skin, thumbs caressing at his beard. The words were said back, as Derek had known it would happen because Stiles had been on the verge of saying it so often. The wolf had sensed it, hadn't pressured because they both knew all too well how fragile love was, how acknowledging out loud made it all the different. There was no doubt that Stiles loved him, but now.... The heart didn't lie, the words rang as true as Derek's.  
  
With a sound of surprise at the sudden and desperate kiss, Derek returned it just as fervently because there might be some time before they would do it again. It shouldn't be a goodbye kiss, he didn't mean for it to feel like one even though it kind of was. A mental goodbye, for a while. Only for a while, not forever. They were going to beat this, like all previous trauma. They were going to adjust and deal with it. After all this time of pining after somebody he didn't think he'd have, it would be stupid to give up just when he finally did have him.  
  
Derek's thumbs caressed the pale cheeks while they kissed, clutching at Stiles' face for that one last taste. The release of their lips were slow, and he licked them to savor every last taste.

"Okay... Now I'm ready."

That was a real kiss. A real deep kiss Stiles didn't fully realize how much he's been longing for in the last couple of weeks. It was the fuel his heart and soul needed to be able to do the next step. He gazed into Derek's eyes for a long time, lips moist and red and slightly open after the kiss. He could still taste the 'goodbye' on his tongue, but it wasn't a final one. He knew it. It was temporary, but he drank in every detail of the familiar face, the warm and then determined look in Derek's green eyes as they both savored the moment a little bit longer.  
  
"We can do this..." he said out their thought and slowly nodded. "Alright. Alright. Take off your shirt." Pulling back to an arm's length from Derek was hard, but this was the moment they've been working towards since that fateful first day of Stiles' visit at the Stilinski home. When he'd learned about Derek's captivity and torture in Hell. When he had promised the wolf that he was going to find a way to get his soul back. And now...  
  
Stiles' kept his eyes on Derek, one hand sliding onto a naked shoulder to steady it, the other blindly reaching out to the side. He felt exactly where the orb was. His palm and then whole hand got covered in that amber light again and the orb floated right over Stiles' palm, some more of his magic swirling around it to steady it.  
  
"I'll try to be as gentle as I can," he promised. If he allowed doubt into his thoughts or stopped for a moment to think through the situation, he wouldn't have been able to do this. Because he didn't exactly know what he was doing or how he should proceed. He couldn't have explained it. He just... instinctively knew. Or perhaps his magic knew and Stiles had learned a while back that he could trust it, and he could trust his instincts even more.  
  
The Spark was ignited in him and all of a sudden the air and energies shifted around them.  
  
Strange foreign words rolled off his tongue on an unknown language. He never practiced or heard of the words before, but he spoke them with certainty, to which more magic began flowing between their bodies and wide-open bonds, the shimmering of the orb getting stronger, as if being fueled or awakened.  
  
"Be whole again, my love..." Stiles whispered and with that his hand moved forward fast as if wanting to punch Derek in the chest. Which he practically did, releasing the orb in the last moment, his glowing palm slapping against the other man's sternum.  
  
From seemingly thin air, the sacrificial blade appeared in his other hand. His magic was the only thing keeping the soul inside again as it was struggling to find a way to its other half, as if sensing that it was right there. More words spilled from Stiles' mouth, fire dancing in his eyes as he slowly pulled back the amber threads from around the half which he's been helping to keep safe and more or less stable since their mating. It seemed that the other half only waited for that, because it moved in to merge together.  
  
Stiles used that moment to lift his hand and carve a sealing rune into Derek's skin right where the druid's hand was just a moment ago.  
  
"I seal you to where you belong by magic and blood. Be one whole again and may you find peace with time," he said in English this time, but there was just as much (if not more) power behind his words.

There was nothing gentle about getting his soul back, no matter how hard Stiles tried to make the transition as smooth as possible. To the wolf, it felt like a fist punched through his sternum, breaking apart his ribs to get to that part of him which had been without its other half for so long. Suffering in silence, his body shivered violently, swallowing the scream wanting to erupt by clenching his teeth tightly together. It felt like he had been cut open so somebody could play with his insides, tugging at threads and placing something inside him which felt diseased, infected. And that something became part of him with a snap, sealed inside by blood and magic.  
  
The moment Stiles was done with the rune, Derek crumbled like a puppet with its strings cut, collapsing on the concrete floor of the parking lot with a loud thud. It didn't feel like being whole again, it felt like somebody had shoved their claws into the back of his neck and forced all these memories on him which shouldn't be his. But they were his. Decades of memories his soul had suffered through coursing through his head, fusing with his body and the leftover piece of soul. It must be what going insane felt like, this pressure building inside of him because he couldn't comprehend everything, he couldn't handle that much torture all at once.

 ** _“Hello puppy, are you lost? Are you looking for a new home?”_** Lucifer whispered with glee as he found Derek, knowing full well the gem the werewolf presented to him. A werewolf in Hell! One with connections to so many Lucifer would love to hurt and now he could. By hurting this one. **_“You’re mine now, all mine. My new personal pet. We’re going to have so much fun.”_**  
  
So much fun to be broken over and over again, until Derek had forgotten what had been real, until nothing made sense anymore and even focusing on surviving had been a lost strength. All alone, forgotten, kept hidden so Lucifer could play.  
  
**_“Fearless Child,  
_****_Broken Boy,  
_****_Tell me what it’s like to burn.”  
_**  
Harsh whispers in his ear even when he wasn't sleeping. Warm breath against the nape of his neck. The feeling of glee while he screamed and screamed.  
  
Nobody had ever heard him, or hadn't cared to shiver from the lonely howls of his pain. They had drowned in the misery of others, the echoes swallowed up in the vastness of despair.  
  
How Lucifer had toyed, had played, had broken. Until he felt like pieces of raw meat stitched together by congealed blood. Torn apart.  
  
**_“Burn.”  
_**  
Derek screamed, clutching at his head to make it stop, to make everything stop. He wanted to claw at his eyes, he wanted to be blind and deaf and alone. Screams turned into howls of pain and despair, echoed around the empty parking lot.

Stiles knew it was going to be difficult. For both of them. But he wasn't – couldn't have – prepared for this... The moment the rune was done and Derek went down hard on the concrete floor, the blade dropped from his glowing hand and he crouched over Derek, back curling forward as if wanting to protect his mate, but it was from the immense pain that kept flowing through their open bonds.  
  
Stiles was screaming along with Derek. It was so overwhelming! Such a destructive force! He saw them. Saw the memories, heard the voices as if they were his own memories. But he kept their connection open to share the pain, share the burden. _For better or worse._ He wasn't going to leave Derek alone to suffer through this. He had to... he had to...  
  
Thinking became near impossible from the onslaught of the decades long, endless memories of torture, of loneliness, of pain. And he screamed and cried with Derek. If he thought that being possessed by the Nogitsune was bad then he was wrong. This was so, so much worse. His body convulsed with the mental pain and his control got obliterated by it.  
  
The magic roared up in him, exploding around them in an agitated whirlwind and the amber mist-like glow was nowhere to be seen. It was a ring of fire circling them, burning, roaring, feeding from them, from the pain and agitation the mated pair was going through.  
  
Stiles' whole body was glowing, his aura on fire, fingers curling into claws, ready to tear into himself or Derek or anything, but with the last string of consciousness he kept himself from doing that.

_“Once you seal his soul back into him it is likely you’ll lose control too from what that piece of soul had to go through. You have to keep at least a sliver of control. The only way to make it stop is to give him this potion.”_

_“What will it do?” Stiles asked Deaton with doubt in his eyes._

_“Knock him out. Take the edge off the merging of his soul. Once he wakes up, it will hopefully be a bit more bearable for him.”_

_“I see…” Stiles swallowed hard._

_“It will affect you too.”_

_“I don’t care. I’ll do what I have to… to help him through this.”_

_“I know. Still… be careful. This can drive both of you insane. You have to hang onto your sanity even more than Derek.”_

_Stiles stared at the druid and nodded, taking the small glass vial with the purple liquid in it._  
  
Numb fingers moved towards his pocket as he bit his bottom lip until it started bleeding with the effort to cut off his own screams. He could barely see from the streaming tears, hand shaking violently, he wrapped his fingers tightly around the vial not to drop it. Uncorking it was a task on its own as he kept sobbing, mouth filled with the taste of blood, but he didn't care.  
  
Stiles forced himself to reach under Derek's head. "Derek! DEREK! DRINK!" he shouted at his mate with not just his voice but his whole being, the command burning itself through the bonds, sizzling with fire as he blinked the tears away and forced the potion down on the wolf's throat to make it stop. To make all of it fucking stop!

Derek was too far gone to know what his mate had done. He had never been aware that this would harm his mate as well. He never would have wanted his soul back if it was going to draw Stiles in as well because it wasn't a price he wanted to pay. He took the soul back for Stiles, not to harm him. Not to share his misery like this, this would have never been something he agreed to. Perhaps that's why Deaton and Stiles neglected to tell the wolf what this ritual would entail.  
  
But as it was, he didn't hear the human's screams, he didn't feel the pain echoed, only felt the hand cupping his face and he didn't want to. Didn't want to drink from the bottle which smelled like purple wolfsbane, he didn't want to sleep and be even more at the mercy of his mind.  
  
"No, no, no."

It was useless, though, the command to drink forced itself in his head and his shields had been shot, his mental capacity to fight it gone. Spluttering, he drank from the vile potion as it was forced on him, some of it leaking along his chin but there was enough inside of him to do its work rapidly. Swallowing thickly, he felt his body give into the lethargy claiming it, the darkness clouded his vision, his wide terrified eyes dulled to a dazed stare until the eyelids fell shut.  
  
He didn't want to sleep.  
  
Sleep he did, though, body spread out, lax and useless. It was like forcing a dog to sleep through fireworks with medication. The body would sleep but the mind heard it all and silently suffered through it.

Stiles was panting through his mouth, nose too much clogged from the crying as he watched Derek starting to relax and fall asleep as the potion began working.  
  
_A deep, dream and thoughtless sleep…_ That's what Deaton had promised and Stiles was praying to the Universe that it was going to be true, because what just went down since he sealed the soul into Derek, it was too intense... too much... So fucking too much!  
  
Even as Derek's body relaxed on the floor, Stiles could see claws digging into his mate's stomach to gut him, just to be healed the next day and be flayed alive. These were echoes of Derek's memories. Of his soul's memories that will haunt him for years, he knew. And this was the time to let it all out before he had to be strong for his mate. So he sobbed and let himself break down against Derek's chest, his body and mind and soul hurting from both the physical exhaustion and the mental torture they were going through.  
  
The magic slowly calmed down, the fire evaporating from around them as Stiles' hands were holding onto Derek's shoulders as if his life depended on it. Then after a while he finally took a deep breath and wiped his eyes with his sleeve. He... he had to calm down and get past this. He had to be strong for both of them.  
  
So with another deep breath and a few sniffs, he slid an arm under Derek and somehow managed to drag the heavy muscular body with him towards the elevator. His only goal was to maneuver Derek into bed and pass out right next to him from the strain they both went through. In Stiles' case, magic-wise. In Derek's... with everything.


	2. 10: Whole Again - Part 2

**10: Whole Again – Part 2**

Waking up left him groggy, disoriented, unsure of where he was, who he was, who he was with. The bed he was on was comfortable, smelled like pack and home and clean sheets. His body felt whole, healed, only the many echoes of pain itching along his skin. There was no stench of old blood, of his own body torn apart, of flesh burning. Something warm was next to him on the mattress, with deep even breaths and a loud heartbeat. Cautiously he opened his eyes to look at everything.  
  
The loft... He was at the loft. That was... was that okay? Was that normal? As he looked at the dirty stone walls, they shifted to red, red of blood, red of fire, faces showing their anguish with soundless screams as the entire wall moved and shifted. _Not real, not real._  
  
Slowly his wide eyes slid to the body on the bed, long limbs and mole-dotted pale skin. Pink puffy lips opened for soft snores to be breathed out, runes carved as crude tattoos. Stiles. But he was dead? Sitting up, the wolf hesitantly reached out to touch, to check how real it was but before his fingers could make contact, the flesh oozed away to reveal broken bones sticking out from the carcass on the bed. With a pained gasp of agony, Derek moved out of the bed as quickly as his legs would let him, half crawling, half stumbling to press into a corner.  
  
 _Not real, not real._ What was real? His hands, he had to check his hands! Holding them out, he noticed they were shaking as he counted his fingers. One, two, three, four, five. Real. Right? No, no, the trick doesn't work in Hell, because Hell was real, it wasn't some dream where he could count his fingers and wake himself up. There was no trick to know reality, nothing made sense anymore, it hadn't for a long time.

Stiles woke with a start. At first he didn't know what disturbed his deep sleep, but as his sleepy, disoriented eyes looked around while sitting up, everything made sense to him. The memories of last night's ritual flooded back into his mind. The successful opening and closing of the portal to Hell, sealing Derek's soul back into his body and the pain and agony that followed. How he had to half-drag the unconscious wolf upstairs (thanking the Universe for the invention of elevators) and tuck him in bed before he too fainted to an exhausted sleep, his over-strained body twitching and some muscles cramping in his sleep too.  
  
His muscles and head felt heavy, an aftermath of the overuse of magic, but he didn't care. He tried to focus on the terrified feelings coming through the bonds from his mate. Looking into the corner, he saw him cowering there with pure terror on his face, looking at his trembling hands, counting fingers. A technique Stiles often used too when he was possessed by the Nogitsune to try determine if something was real or just a dream. So Derek was seeing things. What made it worse for him was that he was actually awake, thus counting fingers wasn't going to really help in his case.  
  
"Derek?" he asked softly, quickly wiping sleep out of his eyes as he carefully scooted to the edge of the bed on Derek's side. He wasn't really sure how to approach his mate, but knew that he had to be careful because he didn't know what the Hale was seeing and certainly didn't want to trigger anything worse in him. "Derek, look at me, please. You're safe. You're on Earth, back at the loft. We put your soul back into you yesterday, that's why everything seems to be so messed up. Do you remember? Do you remember me?" he asked gently but with some authority in his voice too to draw Derek's attention to him.

His head whipped up startled, as if he hadn't heard Stiles approaching, staring at the human for a long time. Yes, yes, he remembered Stiles, of course he did but memories of what he was supposed to remember didn't make much sense. One part of him recalled the years of Stiles going to college and moving to San Francisco, and the other part remembered the last months they had been spending together. He didn't know what was true anymore so he hissed, pressing the palms of his hands against his eyes. His head was hurting, attempting to deal with all these new memories and traumas.   
  
"You're Stiles," Derek said without looking at the other. Even when he stopped pushing at his burning eyeballs, he kept his eyes averted. It was surreal to be here, Lucifer hadn't put him here before, not in all those years because the loft never held much connection. He had lost Boyd there, sure. But it hadn't been home, it hadn't been important. It smelled like them in here – him and Stiles – especially the bed.   
  
As he looked down, he noticed the marks on himself, one on his arm, scarred over and one on his chest, which was still a wound. Runes, magic. It made sense, Stiles smelled like ozone, a distinct scent for magic and he had an ember glow around him. It's why his eyes hurt, leftover gift from Hell which would go away in a few weeks, his brain supplied because he had been in Hell before? It was all too much, everything was scrambled.

"Lucifer will find me, I shouldn't be here. You need to get me back..."   
  
But as he said it, he frowned because Lucifer wasn't in charge anymore? So it was okay. Was it okay? Swallowing thickly, he fought for some kind of reality to fix on in his head as he stared at his feet, tilting his head while he wiggled his toes. He had toes again. "I have toes. I didn't have toes. They were cut off and taken so I couldn't attach them." Why were there toes again? Finally he lifted his head to look at the human in great confusion.

Even if Stiles didn't have the ability to some degree feel Derek, it would've been easy for him to see just how confused his mate was. With a sigh, he carefully took a few steps closer to the corner then somewhere halfway between Derek and the bed decided to sit down cross-legged on the hardwood floor. And boy, Derek felt so different. Not just the darkness and confusion and the tortured memories kept filtering through to Stiles, but he felt... more. Whole. Despite everything. His presence was stronger to him. Undoubtedly the result of his soul merging. It was also so strange for Stiles that his magic was around it in a different way than previously. It didn't have to keep the remaining half together, but it still lingered around the whole soul in a protecting manner. He could feel it.  
  
The relief was easy to see on the younger man's face. At least Derek remembered him. And the more he talked, the clearer it got to Stiles that the memories of the two souls were jumbling and clashing together, generating that confusion in Derek. So he was going to have to help Derek through things, help him piece them together. He hoped as hell that he was going to be able to do so, because seeing Derek like that and hearing the things he said (cut off toes? really, Lucifer?!) was torture in itself for Stiles.  
  
"If you remember me, Derek, then try to remember how Deaton had told us that once your soul will be whole, the parallel memories will be overwhelming until they settle after a while. Things will get clearer with time, Derek. I promise. I'm gonna help you. You are not in Hell anymore, you don't have to go back either. We've worked for months to get your soul back and we did it last night," he repeated patiently, long fingers moving along his own thigh restlessly, trying to find a way to get through to Derek. "I know it probably doesn't seem like that right now, but you'll be fine, eventually."

There was a shake of the head because he didn't remember Deaton saying any of that, or he did but he couldn't reach it right now. Cramming over three decades worth of trauma in like that had done a number on him and reality had already been confusing in Hell. Nothing had ever been as it had seemed, because reality could twist and turn and it had been so long. The stone wall against his back felt real though and he liked corners to press into, having something solid against his back to protect it. The bed was too open, too soft. Sheets a luxury he hadn't had in a long time... probably? Because the memory of clean sheets to roll into, the scent of fabric softener tickling his nose as the cotton slid along his skin seemed recent enough.   
  
Stiles was sitting there so calmly, like this was okay and normal, like it was supposed to be like that. But each time he'd blink, the image would change and the human's face would peel back to expose skin and muscle, blood dripping everywhere, the nose gone, the mouth without lips. If he closed his eyes for a moment longer and opened them, then the image would be gone but it ruined any form of normalcy.  
  
"I remember Hell, I don't... I can't..." To go from torture to this serenity was beyond what he was able to grasp. Like his body being whole and healthy. To have a mate because he did sense the mate bond between them and it felt part of him too much for it to be recent. "I don't have to go back?"  
  
So it was finally over? Finally somebody came for him and got him away from Lucifer? No more breaking, no more cages and chains and pain, no more pet. It was such a relief to hear and he leaned his head back, warm tears stinging at his eyes and he didn't even try to stop them when they rolled down his cheeks. _It was over._

Stiles watched him patiently and with some pain in his eyes that stayed a light brown this time. He so wanted to crawl over to him to hug Derek tight, to give him comfort with that and his presence, but he didn't dare. Not yet. Instead, he slightly shook his head.

"No, you don't have to go back. It's indeed over," he whispered, watching the silent tears of relief stain the beloved face. It was breaking Stiles' heart, but it was good. It meant that Derek was starting to believe that he wasn't in Hell anymore. So he gave the other man some time to let that sink in.  
  
"Be patient with yourself, Derek. I know it's confusing and overwhelming. All the conflicting and terrible memories. If I could, I'd wipe them away for you, but unfortunately I can't and it would be also... wrong of me to do so. Even if you wanted it," he mused quietly and inched a little closer on the floor as he was talking. He couldn't help it.  
  
"I can only imagine what you went through. But I've seen a few memories in my mind," he waved a restless hand towards his head. "This won't be easy for either of us, but I'm here to help you through this. If you have any questions... just ask them," he added. "I'm your mate and emissary, so you can trust me with anything."

It would be tempting to have the years of Hell gone, to not know anymore what had happened because he was no idiot, it was going to take a long time to be able to function normally and it was going to be a lifetime of nightmares. Years of finding triggers and avoiding PTSD from kicking in. Derek wasn't even sure if he was going to be able to function without being insane. If he was going to look at others and see only blood and bone and gore. He wasn't going to be safe to be around others, but Stiles felt safe, this felt okay.   
  
What wasn't okay was the human mentioning he had seen memories, because it wasn't... Those memories weren't good for Stiles to experience. He didn't know how to stop that though. There was this persistent command in his head that he was supposed to keep the bond open between them. Poor Stiles, stuck with Lucifer's broken toy as a mate, emissary to an alpha of nothing.  
  
"Where's Elizabeth buried? I want to see her." What was left of her anyways. Hale graves were mostly empty graves, except Laura's. "And I want to get clean." Wash all this blood off of him, except he wasn't sure if the blood was real or not, it faded in and out like Stiles' face. A warm bath though, how long had it been since...  
  
 _A slippery wet body leaned against his own, smelling like the oil Stiles had put into the tub at Derek’s insistence for his aching muscles. The bed smelled like their sex but the bathroom was clean. Stiles laughed, pleased to be leaning against his mate as their breathing matched._

Not so long? Derek scratched at the back of his neck, confused.

The human's eyes widened from Derek's question. Oh god, he thought... "Beth is alive and well. My dad is babysitting her. You've been back from Hell with her and been living at my dad's place for nearly 6 months. You and I... we've been together for more than 3 months now. We've been raising her... our daughter together since then..." he scooted over this time, unable to stay away from Derek when he thought that Beth was dead. "She's a healthy and happy toddler now. She likes unicorns... we even have matching unicorn hoodies. And she loves candy and making us... okay... mostly me try to ungracefully slide off the slide at the playground," he smiled fondly from those memories, but also somewhat worried as he was watching Derek's reactions.  
  
Not knowing about the flashing in and out blood visions of Derek, he finally touched the wolf's warm hand. (Not that he wouldn't do that even if it was drenched in blood for real.) Perhaps physical touch with his mate would help Derek remember at least some of what Stiles was talking about. "And Fenrir, the deaf puppy dog you've got for her for Christmas is keeping her safe too. He's already acting around her like a real guardian dog," he chuckled shortly as he laced their fingers together.  
  
If it was possible, he wanted Derek to remember that his daughter was well and healthy even more than remembering him. He would've traded that in an instant, because that little girl was Derek's everything. And Stiles knew by then that after Derek accepting that he wasn't in Hell anymore, this was the most important thing for Derek to understand. That his daughter was safe and alive.  
  
"She's his daddy Derek's girl. So much! And I'm sure she misses you very much already, but... I'm afraid, at the moment you are not in the condition to see her. Maybe later I could ask dad to send a few pictures of today's adventure from Beth's life. She calls him 'grandpa No' and my dad totally loves taking pictures and short videos of her to send them to us. I can show you a few from my phone if it might help you believe what I'm saying."

_What?_

Seriously, what?! She was alive? No, wait... he knew that, right? It all sounded like something he should have known. It sounded familiar, there were no lies being told either but that wasn't the point. At hearing all that, there was that nagging feeling that he should know all of this. He thought they were fantasies, not real. And now he wasn't sure if this was even real anymore. It sounded too perfect. Living with Stiles and Beth, having a home and a dog, going to playgrounds, celebrating Christmas. It was all he had ever wanted, what he had dreamed about even before he had held the tiny hopeless baby in his arms.   
  
He was too much in shock to even jerk away surprised at the hand on his arm. Numbly he stared at the fingers laced together, the way they fit so perfectly like that. "I should know this! I should know she's alive, what she looks like..." He knew, though. He knew what she looked like: big green eyes, dark messy hair, chubby little arms and a big wide smile that was all Lydia's. There was a flash of her dancing with Stiles with loud giggles but it was ruined by how he had watched her die in Hell. Like... he remembered escaping by giving up part of his soul but he also remembered not escaping and watching her burn before his very eyes, smell her burned flesh, hear her screams and not her giggles.   
  
"I want to see her... videos." Not in person, he wasn't ready for that. He'd react weirdly, he'd mess her up even more than he already had. "I thought... those memories were fantasies. You and Beth. I don't get to have that." He didn't think he had anybody. Not anymore.

"But you do," Stiles protested very softly. "Those aren't fantasies either. As I said, please, try to be patient with yourself. It's a lot to take in and a lot of real and false memories to sort through. But I can guarantee you that she is alive and well," he added while getting his phone with his slightly shaking free hand. He took a few steady breaths as he glimpsed down on the screen to unlock it.  
  
He had to stay strong. He couldn't break down in front of Derek. He had to be his rock, his anchor. He had to close out that flash of a memory of their burning daughter. He had to chase away the echoing screams of the innocent child.  
  
Swallowing hard, he finally found the videos and pictures in his smart phone's gallery and started one as he slid next to Derek, making sure that only their hands touched, no any other part of their bodies because he didn't want to overwhelm Derek with his presence and closeness. The poor man needed some space to breathe and start to come to terms with these 'new' information.  
  
That video was actually taken by Stiles that day. He remembered it vividly. It was the three of them building a snowman in the backyard of the Stilinski home. Beth has been nagging them to do that the second there was enough snow for it. Derek was helping her gloved little hands tap on the belly of the snowman then the two of them put rocks as buttons, eyes and a smile on it. With a chuckle Stiles waved a carrot at Derek while filming and the other man took it with an eye-roll and a 'don't you dare make any inappropriate comments' look on his face. Beth was delighted and excited and happy, babbling about how the snowman (Ben) was her new friend and that he was going to protect the house from outside. Then once they were done, she reached out a gloved hand towards Stiles to get him move closer before demanding for her daddies to kiss (because for some reason she thought that kissing in front of a snowman was mandatory like with mistletoe). Stiles and Derek humored her with a peck on each other's lips (the picture shaking a bit from the awkward angle, but somehow Stiles managed to capture the kiss too. Then the video stopped when the three of them got into some snowball fight.

The rush of feeling horrified got way more intense now that he was closer to Stiles and it took him a moment to realize it was because of their bond. The other must have been picking up on his memories as clearly as they were his own, pretending like it wasn't bothering him when it clearly did. In turn it made Derek feel like nothing was private anymore. Every time he'd remember something bad, Stiles would be seeing it too and some things shouldn't have to be shared. Bonds shouldn't be so invasive and lacking of some personal comfort. It reminded him too much of the way Lucifer would always know everything as well, every fleeting thought picked up on like vultures pecking at a dying animal, circling for death. Obviously Stiles wasn't doing it on purpose but it still made Derek very weary and he would have created some distance if he hadn't already been in a corner.   
  
Instead he focused on what the phone screen showed, an amateur homemade video of a little family playing in the snow. It was such a perfect little moment that he couldn't believe he had been part of it, even though he knew deep down it was real because he could remember. He remembered the way the snow smelled like old frozen rain, the way it would melt and bite at the heated werewolf cheeks, how it cracked under his feet as he walked on it. He remembered the way he blushed when Stiles had handed over the carrot with a cheeky grin. _"It's for the nose, Derek, god. Perv,"_ Stiles had exclaimed but his grin had been downright dirty. So yeah, he knew it had been real but it almost seemed like it couldn't be.   
  
It was so far removed from Hell that looking at this was painful, like torture. It could all be gone again, or what if he would go crazy and that was going to be a past he'd never fully remember unless prompted to. To him Hell was the past or the now because it couldn't be fully over, he wasn't that lucky.   
  
He clutched at the phone, pressed replay again so he could soak in the scene completely. She was beautiful, she seemed so happy despite everything. "That won't be me again, you know that. I won't be the same ever again." He wanted to be that person though, wanted to look so happy and wholesome. Ah poor Stiles, he got the shitty end of the stick.

Not knowing that the occasional memory transfers bothered Derek, Stiles took a few deep, steadying breaths as he was sitting there, staring at the screen of his phone, watching them move and laugh and talk in the video. When Derek hit replay, he did look up at the other man. The dark expression on the familiar and haunted-looking face was painful for Stiles to see. Then he slowly nodded.  
  
"Yes, I know. We talked about it before I went down to prepare everything for the spell. I have accepted that and made peace with it as much as possible. After all, it's something we cannot change. It is natural that having your whole soul with all the horrible memories will... has already changed you. But we both have to believe that with time it'll get a bit easier for you. For both of us," he said on a soft tone, rubbing some soothing circles against Derek's hand with his thumb.  
  
Stiles had promised Derek and himself that he won't leave Derek, no matter what. He loved the wolf and the wolf loved him back. They both said it out loud for each other before he sealed the soul back into Derek. His emotions haven't changed. He just hoped that Derek's won't be the things that will change in him. If he wasn't going to be able to love Stiles anymore... well... even the thought was too painful for the younger man to finish, so instead he cleared his throat and lightly squeezed Derek's hand.  
  
"We should eat something. Are you going to be okay while I put together some sandwiches?" he asked. He didn't have too much of an appetite, but he knew they both had to eat to stay healthy. Last night took a lot out of them. In Stiles' case his magic, which manifested in some angry grumbling of his stomach. And in Derek's... well, it was obvious that the soul-merging and the memories have put a tremendous amount of stress on his body and mind.

The idea of having to eat made Derek’s stomach clench in protest, the last thing he wanted to do was eat right now. Hunger had been something he hadn't felt in a very long time and in Hell it hadn't made much sense but it did now. He hadn't been a corporeal being then, didn't require the kind of sustenance a body needs, it had been different. And this body felt full, too full to accept anything without it ending up in the toilet or a trash bin. Which would be a waste of resources.

"I'm not hungry," was all he offered. He was fine, though, here in the corner while the walls moved with blood and faces, while Stiles switched from being beautifully whole to an unrecognizable corpse. This corner couldn't move with them, it couldn't do anything as it provided him cover and shelter. "I can stay here."  
  
The wolf hit the play button again to look at the video. It didn't change anything, it wasn't shifting to anything bad, it was something to cling to, to remember that it was something he had been part of and could be part of again if he tried really hard to get better. He had to for his new family, that little girl he had done so much for already because she was going to suffer if he didn't get back to who he was supposed to be. So would Stiles. It seemed something unattainable, he couldn't even leave this corner. How was he supposed to take care of a daughter and mate?   
  
A weight settled in his stomach, feeling like a failure and a disappointment for being this weak, this broken. They'd be better off without him, happier, they'd forget and move on.

"Stop that," Stiles murmured, not wanting to raise his voice and startle Derek. "I can feel that thought. We won't be better or happier without you. I most certainly won't move on. You're my mate. Not to mention that if one of us dies, the other will probably die too," he said and let Derek's hand go to rub his own temples. The headache since he woke up was a persistent one. Even if Derek wasn't going to eat, Stiles will have to.  
  
He also suspected that he was so in tune with Derek right now because of the soul-merging and the worry he felt for his mate. Or something else he couldn't know of and was in connection with their bonds.  
  
"You'll be better. You'll be able to get better. It's all too much at first. I've told you before to be patient with yourself. Listen to me Derek, just this once. Please," he sighed then carefully got up, ignoring the weariness and coldness of his body. He had to eat before his blood sugar would drop too much.  
  
"There are more videos and pictures, if you want to check them. There are also wards all over the loft and building. Nothing is supposed to be able to get in without my knowledge or permission," he said then quietly moved towards the kitchen area to put together those sandwiches. (A few extra ones for Derek too, in case he got to the point of eating.)

Oh. Right, Derek knew that. Should have remembered that there's this downside to the bond, namely dying. Not that he'd ever think about ending his own life because that would never be the way to go, no matter how bad it would get. Derek was a fighter and that's how he preferred to go down when it was his time, dying for a cause, a good reason like protecting others, especially now when his death would most likely kill the human as well. The headache was noted though so he didn't push, simply lowered his eyes to acknowledge the words. Since things were being picked up as he thought them, not all but certainly a lot, he wasn't sure what he could think without doing harm, besides not thinking much at all.  
  
So yeah, patience, he could do that, he gave a tight nod while Stiles moved away to get his food. The wards were a nice thought but clearly they weren't doing all that much with everything he was seeing. How was he supposed to feel safe when not even the walls were something he wanted to touch? Nothing seemed safe anymore, nothing seemed normal anymore except for these videos on the phone. Would wards even work on the devil for long? Maybe if they were powerful enough.  
  
Pulling his legs to his chest, Derek looked for other videos to watch, small moments in the lives of the two of them with the little girl. Like playing with a puppy, decorating a Christmas tree, Derek sleeping with a Santa hat on his head. Completely normal moments in a family's life, probably boring for others with how utterly Hallmark they were but he soaked them up, especially the way they were bickering. Though the more he saw, the more he doubted any of this was real. This wasn't something he had after losing everybody.  
  
Life had been this rush of being hunted, being hurt, having hands covered in blood, running to protect others, fighting. Though he did notice that it was only the two Stilinski men and the two Hale werewolves. Safety in numbers sure, but less of a target in a small little group.   
  
When the cellphone signaled a message, the loud noise startled the Hale and he quickly tossed it away from him. It bounced on the bed before it was thrown to the floor, maybe broken? Breaking things was bad, so bad. Horrified at the stupid mistake he attempted to curl into himself even more, to hide away in the walls because there was no way he was going to bolt across the room and leave the corner.

Meanwhile putting together the sandwiches was like an automatic process. Stiles didn't pay too much attention to that as he was too lost in his thoughts and the throbbing of his head. His magic was slowly pulsing with it, unsettled and lightly swirling around him. It was somewhat "depleted" but already accumulating in him again. He just hoped that the strain he had to put on it wouldn't trigger another boost of it, because he wasn't sure Derek would be able to bear a balancing ritual on that scale right now.  
  
Still, the young Spark will have to keep in mind that they will have to balance the magic in some way. And soon-ish. He could feel it kinda off. Maybe he should put Derek under like he did during the rut so he wouldn't work himself up. Also, he wasn't sure that now with a full soul the ritual would feel the same to them or not. But of course he'll have to talk to Derek about this first. He wasn't going to force anything on the poor man. Especially not now.  
  
Stiles sat down to the kitchen table to quietly force the food down, his hungry stomach felt weird. It didn't seem to be able to decide if it wanted to accept the food or not, but in the end it stayed down, making the lean man sigh with relief then washed the first down with some coffee. He was nearly done with the second when he heard the chiming of his phone then a thud on the floor nearly right after.  
  
Finishing his coffee, he abandoned the half-eaten food, grabbed the mug of black coffee he had poured for Derek and wandered back into the living room, feeling Derek's horror. He saw him curled into himself as small as he could... as if waiting for a punishment. With a light frown Stiles soon detected his phone as the source of the thud.  
  
Without a word he walked over and picked it up. "Just a scratch," he said after observing the damage and walked back to Derek, putting the mug of coffee between them once he was leaning against the wall with his back. There was a bit more distance between the two of them this time.

The silence in the loft was oppressing, it felt unnatural, and not just because the screams of Hell had been normal for the Hale. Stiles wasn't supposed to be that quiet, that calm. So hesitant. As if Derek might bite if he came too close, though that was probably not too far from the truth with the way he was cornered and acting. Hesitantly he lowered his hands to look at the human when there was no screaming, no pain, no nothing. The phone was eyed, Stiles was ogled, then back to the phone before the mug got attention. There was this acid scent and it wasn't covered by the inviting smell of the hot coffee.  
  
Stiles was sad, Derek had made Stiles sad because of the phone? Or because of his behavior? He wasn't exactly sure what kind of behavior was expected of him besides being patient with himself. Pale green eyes went back to the mug, gauged the distance between the mug and Stiles before he cautiously moved forward to take hold of it, careful not to spill anything of the dark liquid. It smelled good, he remembered he had liked coffee a lot. The roasted taste of the beans, especially the Arabic blend. _Coffee snob_. That's what Stiles had called him, a coffee snob because he had been picky about what beans to buy.  
  
The first sip tasted great when Derek carefully took it. It was warm and soothing. Eager, the next sip was a big gulp, as if his body just now remembered that it had been thirsty. Big mistake. The taste of old rust filled his mouth and the smooth liquid turned to this chunky and sticky kind of substance, he couldn't swallow it. Suddenly the mug was filled with old congealed blood, dark and tar like, stinking of rot and death. Paling, Derek put the mug down, spitting out the thick goo all over his pants while it slowly dripped from his mouth in dark red strings.   
  
_Drip… drip_. Red on his pants, red everywhere. The taste of old blood in his mouth.

"I'll drink it later," he tried to explain, as if all the blood was normal, not realizing Stiles could only see the coffee stains and nothing more.

Truth be told, Stiles wasn't that surprised that even a simple task like drinking coffee proved to be difficult for Derek at the moment. He hated to see how pale Derek suddenly got – not that he had rosy cheeks beforehand either. Fishing out a tissue from his pocket, Stiles carefully leaned closer to wipe the coffee off his mouth and chin.  
  
"It's okay, Derek. It happens..." he said softly with a tiny strained smile. He couldn't manage anything more from the worry that gripped his heart like a vice, threatening to squeeze the life out of it. But he wasn't going to let that happen. Not when his mate clearly needed him. He was sad only because he didn't know how to help him.  
  
"Are you... seeing things?" Stiles whispered, not meeting the wolf's eyes as he finished more or less cleaning the other man's face. "Is that it? You can tell me. I think you should tell me so maybe I can figure out how to help you better. Or do you know what I should do to help you?" he asked, a bit hopeful. His mind was already thinking about doing some research in his spell books. Maybe there was a ward to... well, ward off visions like that. Or at least make Derek realize that they weren't real. And maybe Stiles should dive into some psychology books as well. Or give a call to Morrell to see if she was available for help. After all, Derek had told Stiles that they had a few more or less successful sessions.

Stiles' movements were deliberate, so the tissue was seen coming, it wasn't a surprise and therefor tolerated. It was loving what Stiles did, cleaning away the spilled coffee patiently but it made the Hale sad because he knew this wasn't how it should be. Like he was some baby, incapable of even drinking from a mug or cleaning up after himself but to him it wasn't coffee, it was blood and it was everywhere and he didn't know how to clean it all, didn't know where to start. He looked away, because he didn't want to see the human covered in it as well.  
  
Was he seeing things? Dull-eyed he looked at the bleeding walls, the faces in them with a horrified expression forever carved into their flesh as they stared at Derek with soundless screams. The mug was still filled with old blood, his pants were still stained by the spilled blood and then there was Stiles... Some of this wasn't real, but he didn't know what wasn't so yeah, he was seeing things. Derek nodded in answer.   
  
"Blood, faces, you look like a corpse. Flashes of... of what happened to me if I look at my body." He stared at the stump where his hand used to be, or still was? Because he could feel it was still there, he could wriggle his fingers even when he couldn't see them. And then he worried that it was phantom limb pain and it wasn't there anymore, forgetting what was real or not. "I don't know what's real." Stiles could be in his mind too and not even the trick of counting his fingers worked because he wasn't sleeping. "I don't know how to tell what's real."

"I see. Then... I guess you'll have to rely on me telling what's real or not until we find a way for you to be able to do so on your own," Stiles nodded with understanding as he tossed the tissue next to the mug. "For one, I can tell that me being a corpse is not real. I'm very much alive, thank you," he tried a chuckle to lift the mood a bit. Not that he thought it'd work. "Also, there's no blood. Just coffee. But I can help you shower and get you in clean clothes. You wanted to shower before," he offered.  
  
"I also have an idea. Maybe it'll help. Just give me a sec," he hummed and reached for his phone, ignoring the slight crack in the bottom of the screen, and scrolled down along his contacts until he reached the letter 'M'. Then he hit dial and lifted it to his ear, waiting. At least it was connecting and ringing so the number had to still work. It's been a while since he called her.  
  
"Oh hi, Miss Morrell. It's Stiles. Stilinski. From Beacon Hills. You know..."  
  
"I'm very aware of who you are, Stiles," the calm voice on the other end said, seemingly not surprised that he called her so out of the blue. Was it possible that she was expecting a call from him? Maybe she talked with Deaton? "How can I help?"  
  
"Well... the thing is, it's kind of an emergency and it's not for me but for Derek. Are you by any chance available? Like... right now? To come to Derek's loft?"  
  
There was a pause on the other end of the line before she spoke again. "What is this about?" she asked, obviously careful. Clever woman.  
  
"It's not something I'd like to talk about through the phone, but... you know. We are in dire need of some therapy. You might know why if you talked to your brother..."  
  
Another pause then some moving around sounds in the background. "I'll be there soon. I'll call you when I get there so you can let me in."  
  
"Oh... okay. Thanks. See you soon then."  
  
And with that she disconnected the call, leaving Stiles stare at his phone's screen with a light frown. "Deaton totally blabbered to her about me or us..." he snorted then glimpsed at Derek. "I guess this gives us some time to clean up. So... come on, big guy. Time to shower..." he sighed and stood to help Derek up.

If only it would be so easy as to believe Stiles that what he said was real was the truth when all he could see was blood. Of course he could tell the human wasn't lying, the heartbeat was regular without any upticks besides the nervous beat it already had, which was not something new. Derek had familiarized himself with that irregular pattern so many years ago that it was mostly a comfort to be around it again. While the call was being made, the wolf attempted to focus on the mug of coffee to see if it would be filled with actual coffee instead of blood if he concentrated hard enough, because Stiles had said so. Unfortunately, it didn't work like that just yet.  
  
By the time the call was done and Stiles came to collect him to get a shower, he was still glaring at the mug because it wasn't showing him the truth as it was supposed to be doing. A shower was a good idea, he wanted to get clean, get the blood of off him, the scent of Hell gone, the feeling of being dirty down to his soul. Going to shower did require him to move away from the corner of the room, across it, across the open space. When he had bought the building, living in the open spacious loft had seemed like a good idea, no room to be stuck in. It's why the bed had been placed in the living area. Now it was more like giving up all his safety and being open for an attack.   
  
Shakily standing with Stiles' help, Derek eyed the distance, the many steps he was going to have to take to get to the bathroom, counting them out quickly. _None of it was real_ , he reminded himself, closing his eyes. That way he didn't have to see it all, that way all he needed to do was to focus on Stiles' guiding him and the steps he had to take.  
  
 _It’s not real.  
_  
One, two, three... _It’s not real_. Four, five, six. Each step he took, he was accompanied by that quick heartbeat like a drum encouraging him to keep going. Not once did he look back because he was out of the corner now so looking back would mean seeing his safe spot being corrupted. With one hand outstretched, he kept going until he felt the metal of the door touching his fingertips. They had made it. Through the door, into the room he was supposed to know well since he had been the one who had tiled it. His bare feet only felt concrete since that was throughout the loft but the air had changed in here. The bath was in the middle of the room, not good.

"Shower only," Derek was quick to say. It was in a corner and he really liked corners now.

Leading a closed-eyed Derek to the bathroom was heartbreaking for Stiles, but he kept murmuring encouraging words to him and he smiled a bit relieved that they eventually made it without his mate freaking out. Stiles didn't know how Derek managed to avoid that, didn't know that it was his heartbeat that seemed to be helping enough, but he would've smiled and probably blushed happily if he knew. Either way, he quickly understood (and to some degree felt) why Derek wasn't fond of open spaces right now. Or why he opted for the shower instead of the bathtub.  
  
"Shower it is then," he nodded and helped Derek take off his clothes before he did the same. He was in dire need of one too from getting all sweaty last night during the ritual and then being too tired to clean himself up once Derek was dragged into bed. Plus, he figured that since the shower was much more spacious than he used to have in San Francisco, they could save some time before Morrell got there.  
  
"I'll join you if that's okay. We need to hurry. Marin'll be here soon," he murmured as he started the water, making sure it wasn't too cold before they stepped in. This time he ignored their nakedness as he was focusing on the task ahead. And how good the hot water felt to his aching muscles and bones!  
  
Taking the shower gel they both usually used, the younger man hesitated for a moment, contemplating if it was okay for him to help wash Derek. Then he scolded himself because if he announced what he was going to do, it was probably okay. Not to mention that maybe the physical contact with his mate might be grounding. For both of them. Because Stiles was feeling so uncertain... so lost, even if he was trying to help in whatever way he could.  
  
"I'm going to help you wash up. Which includes touching. I promise I won't hurt you," he announced and lathered up his slender hands, starting at Derek's shoulders with some gentle but thorough touches. What he didn't tell the wolf was that he wanted to avoid the possibility of his mate scrubbing his skin raw while trying to get rid of the imaginary blood – and mental filth and violation he certainly felt. Things Stiles was way too familiar with thanks to the Nogitsune.

Nakedness wasn't a problem, it was fine because he had seen Stiles naked before, and even though he wasn't in the right frame of mind to appreciate the beauty of the slender muscular body in the shower with him, Derek felt comfortable enough. Stiles told him where the hands were going before he did it, there were no surprises and it made it easier. Despite that, his heart was still going rabbit fast from being in one space with somebody, for letting him touch the bloodstained skin.  
  
The weirdest thing was that even though he saw the blood on his own skin, it wasn't washing off, there were no red swirls going down the drain, no red splatter on the green tiles. Almost as if the blood had soaked into him like ink, forever staining him. The human took great care in washing his fingers and hands, lathering up his hair and wash out the thick stubble that was growing into a beard. There was no offer of shaving, of which he was grateful because the thought of having razor blades close to his throat wasn't a good one. Not even the kind that was automatic as he always used to maintain the look without a smooth face. The beard hid his age, hid his face, he felt naked without it and not in a good way.   
  
It was nice to feel somewhat clean, smell like soap and shampoo instead of blood and sweat. Stiles felt like he was more at ease as well, more settled with being able to touch him and have less distance between them. Derek had wanted to spend like an hour in here, with hot water and scrubbing until he felt like there was nothing more to scrub clean. This wasn't the same, the gentle washing wasn't the same at all. Quietly he let Stiles though, not speaking a word because he didn't know what to say. He mostly kept his eyes closed so he could pretend the hallucinations weren't there.  
  
Washing Derek was relaxing, indeed. Well, after a minute or two it started to have that grounding feeling for Stiles too. They were silent as he took his time washing every inch of his mate clean, only the sounds of the cascading water and the dissolving foam on Derek's skin broke the silence in the bathroom. Stiles didn't mind the silence at all this time. He needed it just as much and was simply happy that he could feel useful... that he could do _something_ at last to make Derek feel a tiny bit better. Maybe.  
  
"I want to wear your clothes, smell like you. Sweaters." Nothing short-sleeved, nothing tight and restricting, nothing that wouldn't have his mate's scent or only smell like soap. Being clothed was another reminder that he wasn't in Hell anymore, because who needed clothes when being tortured, they'd only rip apart.  
  
Stiles’ hands only paused for a moment when the other man finally spoke. He couldn't stop a lopsided smile from the request because it warmed his heart a bit. If wearing his clothes will help Derek to feel safer and more stable, he's going to give his whole wardrobe to him.  
  
"Of course. Most will fit you since I'd filled out a bit during the years," he said softly, that smile lurking in his tone. He let his hands linger a bit longer on Derek's sides then with a light caress, he pulled them away. "I'll stop touching you now because I have to quickly clean myself too," he announced and did just that, doing a sloppy but quick work at that then he told Derek that he was also dry him with a fluffy towel before repeating it on himself.  
  
"You're doing great, Derek. Do you want me to lead you to my duffel bag outside or should I bring it in so you can pick out what you'd like to wear?" he asked, the other man's hand still in his grounding hold.

_Be patient_ , that's what Derek was supposed to do. But he knew this wasn't how it was supposed to be; he wasn't supposed to be so fragile and broken as his mate even did the simple things like drying him off with a towel. What was more frustrating though, was the fact that he needed the help. The moment the soft towel had touched his skin, he had wanted to grab it and throw it far away, because it felt too soft. Instead he had taken a shuddering breath and did nothing, fighting the need to freak out over a towel, a stupid harmless towel. The sensations were too much, it was all overwhelming, but apparently he did great.  
  
"We can go out of the bathroom." They had to; he didn't want to hide away in the bathroom even though it felt a little safer since it wasn't such a large open space. Morrell was going to come over, he remembered that. Stiles had called her, she was a druid like Stiles and she was a licensed therapist. Clutching at his mate's hand, like he wasn't about to let go unless he really had to, he finally could throw the towel away, he didn't like them anymore.   
  
Instead of keeping his eyes closed, he stared at the floor, avoiding the walls, the furniture, anything that wouldn't look as it was supposed to look. Especially the mirror, he took care to not get close to that one, a snarl bubbling up at even catching a glimpse of his own reflection. Yeah, he didn't like mirrors either. Spotting the duffel bag, he didn't even reach out for it since it wasn't his. He waited for Stiles to reach for it and grab it. Forgetting that this wasn't Hell and he didn't have to be obedient, that this was his place, that he had been a bold person who hadn't been so subservient.

Stiles could feel the frustration building in Derek and he could easily imagine why. He knew that feeling from first hand. He went through similar stages after the Nogitsune and the Wild Hunt too. When it was hard to determine what was real, when people around him made him uneasy. When others touching him was a difficulty and when panic attacks and night terrors were considered constant companions in his life. When everything was too much. So... even if he didn't want to be annoying to Derek, he stuck to the things that helped him somewhat and stayed patient with his mate. He knew that trauma and PTSD were no fucking joke and were required to handle carefully. Especially in such early stages.  
  
He smiled at Derek for his bravery for following him outside, clutching at his hand maybe a bit desperately and scared and Stiles could also detect more submissiveness in him than usual, but he didn't comment on it, not wanting to upset his mate even more. He only let his hand go when they were at his bag and he started rummaging around for the clothes he thought would fit Derek.  
  
Crouching down with his tattooed back to Derek, he fished out a pair of black sweatpants and a dark-grey henley that always looked a bit big on him. It'd be perfect for his pair's built. He offered the clothes to Derek without looking, his other hand hunting for some clean underwear, another pair of pants (this time olive green), a simple white T-shirt, warm socks and a grey hoodie. (He paid attention not to pick anything remotely red.)  
  
The clothes handed to him were soft but worn, not as new as the towel had been. And they smelled like Stiles and detergent. The pants weren't tight, the henley was snug on the upper arms but not constricting, it felt good to be dressed, he had to admit that even though to his abused mind it was something long ago, almost alien to be wearing clothes. It's why he didn't want to wear his own, they'd smell like him and that would make it too unreal because Stiles' scent hadn't been part of Hell. Smelling him, having him here, it helped clinging to the little bit of reality he had left.   
  
They just got finished dressing up when his phone started buzzing on the bed where he had dropped it muted before the shower. He walked over to pick it up and let Morrell know that he was going to go downstairs for her to let her through the wards.  
  
Turning around, he looked at Derek. "Are you okay with this?" he asked with a searching look. "Can I bring her up? I'd totally understand if you said no. I could ask for her advice downstairs and work with that once I'm back." That right there was a way out for Derek, but Stiles really hoped that having Morrell around was going to be chosen. After all, she was the professional here.

At the question, Derek stopped plucking at the clothes to briefly glance up and meet Stiles' eyes before he ducked his head again. Derek had no idea what he was okay with, the idea of somebody else here when it felt so unsafe already made this sense of panic flare up but the thought of Stiles downstairs with her while he was up here alone, unsafe... it was worse. Frowning at having the option to choose when he hadn't been given a choice in anything for so long made him hesitant. Lucifer had given him choices, but they would never lead to anything good if he had picked the wrong one. So instead of instantly answering, he carefully weighed which answer he thought was the right one.  
  
"She can come up," the wolf decided, heavily influenced by what Stiles wanted but it also happened to be the choice he wanted too. He went back to plucking at the clothes, until his mate left. The moment the room was empty except him, he retreated back to the corner near the bed, pulling his knees to his chest and hid his face in his arms so he didn't have to see the emptiness and the faces judging him.


	3. 10: Whole Again - Part 3

**10: Whole Again – Part 3**

Meanwhile Stiles took the elevator downstairs, the warm smile he sent to Derek for his choice slowly melting off his face. He sagged against the wall with his back and took a few deep and slow breaths, forcing himself to exhale slowly while his hands curled into fists against the cool metal, blinking rapidly against the burning in his eyes for a few long moments.  
  
 _Have to stay strong._  
  
By the time he opened the elevator door, he more or less pulled himself together and walked past their cars to meet the other druid on the other side of the door. He wasn't sure if she didn't get through his wards out of politeness or if she wasn't able to. They were tied to Stiles' magic, so with that they might give some difficulty even for other druids to get through.  
  
"Morrell," Stiles nodded to the woman, who was sizing him up with a strange look in her eyes. The even stranger vibes around her were of course there too. Some things never change. "It's been a while. Thank you for coming on such short notice."  
  
"Stiles," she greeted him on her usual calm and mysterious tone. "My brother wasn't exaggerating about you," she continued but sounded like she said that more to herself than him. The brown eyes weren't focused on Stiles' gaze. It was as if she was looking past his physical form.  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"You and your Spark have grown strong. And are far from being done," she said as if it was the most natural thing to say.  
  
"Oh!" Stiles replied very cleverly as he shrugged and placed a hand on the runes carved into the entrance. The magic in them reacted to him, making his palm and irises glow a bit. "You may enter."

"Thank you," she answered as she stepped inside, most likely sensing his magic but if she did, she didn't say much about it. He knew he was strong, she didn't need to comment on it because she knew that wasn't why she was here. Marin held her bag with two hands as she glanced around the empty downstairs before her attention went to Stiles, well-aware there that was a werewolf upstairs but they were many floors down with concrete between them. Derek couldn't hear them here.  
  
"Alan told me about what you two did. How are you doing?" As therapist she had seen Derek a few times months ago, and she had done some reading since then because as druid, she felt like she had to be prepared for situations, such as souls getting back from Hell, something that hadn't been part of her knowledge before the Hale had asked for her help. "From what I've read, Derek would be better off admitted, which I'm guessing I'm right with, seeing how devastated you look. Have you considered it?"

"Out of the question!" Stiles snapped, quickly getting outraged even from the idea. The unsettled magic immediately reacted to that, making small sparks flash up around in the air with sizzling sounds – a bit like electric charges going off. "I won't let anyone lock Derek up in that horrible Eichen House! That place is more torture and triggering than healing," he scoffed, clenching and opening his hands a few times by his side and then forced his anger back down and tightened his control over his magic as much as he was able to currently.  
  
"I'm sorry. It's been... a difficult few weeks. Especially since yesterday," he rubbed his forehead and sighed. He wasn't surprised by the observing look and silence in return. "Also... I think you can see that things aren't all kittens and rainbows at the moment. But I'll manage. I didn't call you here for me. It's Derek I'm worried about. Understandingly he is in a very bad mental shape. PTSD and hallucinations and confusion from the jumbled up memories. The returned part of his soul has an amount of decades long memories filled with torture and pain, mostly suppressing his other part's memories..." he said quietly, knowing that she needed some information to assess the situation before they'd head upstairs.  
  
He was kinda grateful for Morrell that she didn't start firing off some very wise-sounding advice-like cryptic shit for now. It helped him continue.  
  
"As I saw, he has the most struggles with not knowing what's real or not. He doesn't seem to be able to feel safe at all and prefers pulling back into corners where he isn't so exposed. I don't blame him, though. I understand a bit of what he's going through right now. But... I'm no professional and don't know how to make things easier for him. So that's where you come in."

She didn't say anything about his uncontrolled outrage at her suggestion, nor of him insulting Eichen house. In the end it wasn't her choice to make, it was theirs until Derek would prove to be a danger. An alpha roaming free without having a sane mind, well, Peter Hale had proven just how damaging that could be. And in the end, Stiles, legally, had no say over what would happen to Derek if there had to be certain tough calls to be made. Cora was the only relative left, she had the legal say in this, not Stiles. Something she wisely didn't point out. Instead Marin accepted the apology about the difficult weeks with a head nod.   
  
"Those souls who have returned from Hell, they all have been suffering from hallucinations, especially in the first few weeks because of the lingering energy of the realm clinging to them so in a way he's still seeing Hell. The body and soul have been out of touch, the brain was not made to handle such increase in memories in such a fast time, not to mention the kind of memories. He's a survivor of brutal imprisonment and that's how we need to treat him. Find his triggers and minimize them until he can handle them. Talk him through his hallucinations, which I will teach you how."  
  
The dark-haired woman wanted to see him, of course. It would give her an easier knowledge what they were working with so she walked over to the elevator, pausing there.  
  
"Last time he returned from Hell, he gained certain… gifts, if you want to call them that. He is able to see beings for what they are, seeing the wings of angels for example when he shouldn't be able to. There could be more now but since so few have lived for long after their return from Hell, it's not clear what it all can be. Has he told you anything about what happened to him yet?"

Stiles followed her to the elevator with a deep frown, nodding along the way a few times. "Makes sense. It's a bit similar – just much, much worse – than what I went through with the Void and being erased from everyone's memory and kept in that 'waiting room' dimension. Coming back from that to reality was... let's say, very confusing. To put it mildly. Derek’s situation is much more severe, though. He acts like someone who was conditioned to be much more submissive than he usually is. He feels so... terrified and lost. I can feel it even now," he murmured as he handled the door and the buttons and the elevator started moving with them.  
  
"Sudden movements, touches and loud noises are definitely triggers. Also the hallucinations. Like seeing blood everywhere. Seeing me as a corpse and so on. He didn't tell me everything he sees, but I believe it's plenty and horrible," Stiles summed up what he knew so far. "He didn't tell me much. But I know his toes were cut off and kept away from him and that ruts were forced on him monthly just to be left there suffering and clawing at himself..." he swallowed hard and paused to take a few deep breaths. "He's even more... closed up and silent than usual. But through our bonds I've got flashes of some nasty tortures his soul had received there. They'll definitely go to my nightmare-inducing memories, that's for sure," he chuckled dryly, staring at the opposite wall.  
  
"But I want you to know that any help you can give me to handle this here will be appreciated. And name your price, I'll settle it with you later. I warded everything off with runes and mountain ash like when he was in heat. Also... my presence seems to be more or less okay for him. I or my touches – when I announce what I'm going to do – haven't triggered him yet."

"You don't know what he has experienced, werewolves do not belong in Hell, Stiles. It could be he requires you to be more dominant to cope, it could trigger. You must tread lightly," she warned as the elevator creaked and groaned on its way up to the highest floor of the building. Marin's face was unreadable as usual, not even looking curious or upset at the information given to her. Derek was her patient, he was the one alpha left in Beacon Hills now with Scott in LA. One with ties to the Nemeton, which made it all the more important to have him healthy enough.   
  
There was no denying that Stiles was in need of aid just as much. He was the one experiencing it as well, not as much as Derek had but to his claim that she was here only for Derek was a false one, he needed some attention as well. Once he would allow her to, because his worry for his mate was preventing him at the moment.   
  
"I have no price to name, a feral alpha tied to the Nemeton... it's in all our best interest to help him." The small little smile on her face told the human that there might be a price someday, but not any day soon.   
  
"Did you know Derek has been mute after the fire? He hadn't spoken a word until well into eighteen. It was his way to cope, his way of communicating might be something we don't immediately pick up on." The druid got a book out of her bag to hand over to Stiles, the cover revealed nothing, it was blank leather. "This is a study on werewolves and their body language. Born ones such as Derek don't need their words. It might help should he regress to not speaking at all." It should always help with Derek, it did for her when she was helping him cope months ago.  
  
"No, I didn't know he was mute for so long..." Stiles looked a bit surprised as he processed that information and took the offered book with a grateful expression. His fingers and the researcher in him itched to open it and start reading it right away, but he stopped himself from doing so. They had more pressing matters. He could feel Derek's fear and discomfort from upstairs. Stronger with each level they were getting closer to the broken alpha. So the young man simply sighed and held the book to his stomach, thanking Marin.  
  
The elevator reached the loft and she waited for Stiles to open the door, following after him. Stiles quietly led the other druid, which only showed the depth of his worries and the seriousness of the situation. He wanted to let her do her own magic with words and all that her therapy might include.

Derek was barely visible, hidden away in a corner near the bed, curled in on himself Seeing Derek like that though... hiding in that corner was heartbreaking for Stiles all over.

"Hello Derek. Do you remember me? Stiles said you agreed to see me."   
  
There was a barely there nod but the fact she was acknowledged and he could understand her words was promising. However when she got closer, he growled low in warning and pressed even more into the corner even though that was impossible, attempting to make himself look small instead of posturing an attack. Fear, submissive and yet not showing throat to her.

Stiles put the book down on the bed then stepped next to Morrell, holding up a hand with a gentle gesture to stay where she was.  
  
Then he pressed his back against the wall and slid down onto the floor between the wolf and the druid, stretching out his long legs, crossed by the ankle. Stiles let his hands rest on his thighs and turned his head towards Derek. He was like a natural protective barrier between the two. For both's sake. This way he could call up his magic in any moment either to keep Derek back from attacking or Marin from getting uncomfortably close to his mate. Stiles made it look casual, though.  
  
"It's okay, Derek. She won't get closer. You're safe," he murmured on a reassuring, calm tone. Now his fingers were burning to touch the wolf's warm skin for some more grounding, but he knew his mate needed some space at the moment to keep himself under control.  
  
"I will stay right here, Derek," Marin said and put her bag down on the floor before she sat down next to it cross-legged, brown eyes never leaving the cowering wolf's form. She was clearly studying him to decide what kind of approach she should take with her patient.

Only when Stiles put himself between Marin and Derek did the werewolf lift his head to wearily eye the newcomer. It was brief and calculating before his gaze went down again. But they all knew this had been a threat-assessment and they were skating on very thin ice with the tortured predator. It didn't seem to faze the older druid, she calmly remained where she had seated herself, not coming closer but also not moving back either.

"Stiles tells me you have hallucinations, do you have them all the time?" she started and it got her a nod. "Do you know what is real?"  
  
A shake of the head.   
  
"Can you tell me who had you in Hell? I only need a name, no details." There was hesitation which she sensed. "It's okay, take your time. I know most souls are assigned to certain demons and it would help me to know, so I can help you better."

It took minutes, it almost seemed as if there wouldn't be an answer at all until Derek ducked his head more and he whispered so softly they wouldn't have heard if it hadn't been so quiet in the loft.  
  
"Lucifer."  
  
The normally impassive woman's eyes widened and there was a flash there of something – pity maybe – before she schooled it back. "You did very well, thank you. Can you tell me what he called you?"

The wolf flinched at the question. "Pet."  
  
"Thank you, that's enough for now, Derek." Her eyes narrowed as she stared at him, muttering to herself. "What did you get yourself into to get Lucifer's attention?" She didn't bother moving away since werewolf ears would hear her still. Instead her attention went back to Stiles, dismissing the wolf almost abruptly. "Normally I'd suggest a spell to make him human, so we can give him the medication needed to deal with a fractured mind. There's no way to stave off insanity, I'm afraid. He's crumbling fast. But making him human would mean you'll be without your familiar for too long and the built up magic will kill you."  
  
This time she moved away to give Derek some more space. "That's why Julia spelled him into falling for her, her intention had always been to keep him. After the rituals would be done and Deucalion dead, the built up magic would have been too much without having a source to drain it, a vessel to store it. Derek being linked to the Nemeton and a werewolf… as you know, he's the perfect conduit. There is no human cure for this. Alan and I will have to see what the three of us can do with our magic to aid Derek. How long are you able to hold on before the magic gets too much? Because I'm going to suggest keeping him weak with potions before he does something we cannot undo, such as taking his eyes or his life."

Stiles had to swallow hard a few times and his eyes widened as well at the mention of Lucifer himself. That was bad. That was _very bad_ and it seemed Morrell got to the same conclusion with what she said next. Stiles lifted his gaze at her, his nails digging into his palms. He didn't even remember curling them into fists on his lap. But didn't care about it either. The slight pain kept him grounded enough not to freak out and his breathing slow and even, even if his heartbeat quickened with fear for his mate. Not for his own well-being.  
  
"My magic is already off balance since last night's ritual, but I can hold on to it... dunno, around a week or a little more before I'd need a balancing transfer. But that's only if we get lucky and there isn't going to be a surge triggered by the big amount I had to use to do the spell and keep the portal open while pulling his soul back to this dimension," he said truthfully.  
  
The younger druid's worried eyes drifted back to the curled up man. "But I can hold on for him. If what you say might help him. Give his mind and soul some time to adjust and process at least a portion of what he'd gone through..." He hated this. Talking about Derek's fate while he was right there, unresponsive for now. As if they were talking about a problematic child. Which was far from the truth. Derek was broken. And Stiles wanted to help mend the ragged edges at least a little bit, to give him his life back. Or at least a life in which he could find his footing again and step on the long path of recovery.  
  
"If it gets... too much, I might be able to sedate him with the potion that worked on him while he was in heat and do the balancing like that. So it wouldn't put additional strain on him or trigger anything. Though we never tried it that way, so I hope it'd work. What do you think?" he looked back at the woman, who was still studying him instead of Derek.

Derek barely acknowledged them, though he was listening closely to them with his head tilted and his eyes averted. It wasn't clear if he even heard all they were saying or not, he kept scratching at the back of his neck and remained hunkered down to appear as small as possible. It wasn't easy for a six foot muscular man to look even remotely small but somehow the Hale managed to look as broken as he was inside. It was tragic for a proud werewolf like that to give up his soul to save his daughter, only to take it back to even out the bond to his magical mate and to have a chance at being a father with feelings instead of a cold heartless husk. And now it was destroying him.   
  
"No, it will be harder for you to do the ritual with him out cold. Try tomorrow to do it without it first, only knock him out if you have to. After you've done the ritual we'll give him the potion, with wolfsbane. It will weaken his healing so he can't take your magic but hopefully it will buy us the time to come up with a solution." She glanced to Derek briefly. "As far as we know, Lucifer rarely takes on souls. If he does... Maybe we should find a way to end the bonds without you as casualty. It would be gentler to put him down."   
  
Derek flinched at that, but he didn't protest once, not even a growl or snarl. Maybe deep down he knew he no longer had a say in what happened anymore. Maybe death wasn't something he minded. He certainly had 'died' enough times to accept it, was at peace with the possibility of it as long as it would keep others safe.

Stiles' reaction was immediate. His anger boiled up in him in less than two seconds and he found himself kneeling in front of Derek, his back to him so he could face the other druid. His eyes flared up in time with his magic which created a thick amber-colored shield wall around the mates. The part which was closest to the woman pulsed and emitted so much heat that she was forced to slide backwards to get away from the burning air, while the magic closest to Derek stayed cool and comforting.  
  
"HOW DARE YOU?!" Stiles' voice boomed across the room, laced with magic and sizzling anger, his eyes glowing brightly and in warning. He heard whispering in his head, the darkness inside encouraging him through the whispers to hurt her. Teach her a lesson. _To kill her_ for what she suggested. And he was a second from giving in with his shaky control.  
  
Morrell seemed to have realized her mistake. But maybe it was too late.  
  
"How dare you suggest something like that?!" Stiles hissed at her, the amber tendrils and veins climbing up on his neck and side of his face, hands glowing in the same color. "You have NO idea how deep our bonds go or how strong they are. I called you here to ask for help, not to threaten the life of _my mate_! I'd give my life to protect his! Never forget that, Morrell! And don't come with that 'greater good' and 'for the balance' bullshit, because I swear I'll unleash my magic on you and burn you to ashes. I am so very close to it right now. I think it's better if you leave. _Now_. We can talk tomorrow. _Go_!"

"Offering him the chance to forget all of what happened, to be at peace, it's help as well, Stiles. He's suffered more than enough, don't you think?" Marin took a few steps back, halfway to the door since she could see there was no reasoning at the moment. It was a reminder that Stiles' control was fickle at best, a danger to all if that wasn't dealt with soon enough.   
  
At the door she paused to turn to him. "His insanity is already spreading to you, control yourself. His daughter needs one father at least. And you're scaring your mate." The door was slid closed behind her with a loud clang, making the werewolf whimper.  
  
All the yelling and anger wasn't helping. Neither was the scent of magic in the air because it was infused with fire. Suddenly Stiles wasn't turning into a corpse anymore, he was turning into Lucifer himself. Dark hair became blond, the warm voice turned taunting and there was a nasty smile plastered on his face. Corners were nice but they were also preventing him from fleeing so with his heart hammering in his chest like a frightened rabbit, he shielded his head. If blows were coming, then at least the most vulnerable part was hidden. The anger was going to get turned on him, it always was, that's what he had been good for. He healed so who cared? His body trembled because he knew what was going to happen and it was never anything good.

The whispers became louder as Stiles' anger got pushed a notch higher from what she was saying, but there was truth in her words as well. Yes, Derek had suffered enough, but he wasn't a lost cause. Stiles had to believe that there was a way to help his mate – without killing him. Yes, it was harder for him to control himself. Yes, Beth needed _them_. Not just one father but both! And yes... he was definitely scaring Derek and that was what made Stiles finally turn and sit back on his heels, upper-body sagging forward as the wall of magic disappeared and he was working on pulling it back. Making his Spark pull back along with the voices.  
  
Derek needed him. He had to stay strong. In control.  
  
"I am mindful and in the moment... I am mindful and in the moment," he whispered his personal mantra to help him focus and calm down as he was taking deep breaths, exhaling slowly. Soon only his heart was beating too fast, but at least his breathing evened out and he felt calmer as he kept his eyes on the scared werewolf.  
  
His anchor. His love. His mate.  
  
Stiles wiped at his face with the back of his hand and exhaled loudly before he inched a bit closer on the floor.  
  
"It's okay, Derek. It's me Stiles. I'm sorry if I scared you. I didn't mean to. I just wanted to protect you because I love you and I don't want any harm to get to you. At least from the outside world. I'll always protect you... Please... if you can... just look at me... and take my hand," he asked softly, offering a slightly trembling hand. "Please."

There was a reason why Lucifer had kept Derek as a pet all this time. Because no matter how often he broke him, he'd still fight back, he'd still attempt to survive whatever was thrown at him. He'd defend because he had to, because nobody else was going to if he didn't unless they wanted something from him and the Devil? He always wanted something from Derek. He didn't hear Stiles voice speaking to him, he only heard the mean taunting voice of his tormentor.  
  
He tried to tell himself it wasn't real, tried to remind himself of the truth but nothing made sense, nothing at all. When he lifted his head, he had shifted to beta form, and he snarled in warning even though it wasn't much of a warning at all, it was his call to arms. The arm outstretched to him wasn't a hand with an open palm, it was a finger beckoning him over, like Lucifer had done when punishment was going to happen. He was supposed to come obediently without a fuss, the more he fought, the more he'd be punished. He knew that and yet it didn't stop him.  
  
Red eyes stared at the arm before he lashed out, claws sinking into the flesh to gauge long deep wounds, the scent of fresh blood satisfying.

"Leave me alone!" he roared with his alpha voice, deep and menacing. "No more, no more. Stop it. No more." His voice broke, as did the shift as he reverted back to himself. "Please, no more, no more."

The shock was too great and strong in Stiles so the excruciating pain came only a few seconds later, making his eyes water and a strangled, ugly noise wheeze out of him. He instinctively leaned on his good arm and pulled the injured one closer to his body. The movement left a trail of blood on the floor and it continued dripping steadily onto his sweatpants.  
  
It was difficult to breathe through the pain and think clear enough to remind himself that Derek didn't mean this. That he was seeing things. He was probably a corpse again to him, or maybe even Lucifer himself. Judged by the whimpering pleas, it was probably the latter.  
  
With the strong feeling of failing Derek, the young mage shifted on his spot a bit so he could hold out his good hand, making it shimmer in amber. He called some of his magic forth and with the first teardrops sliding down on his too pale face, Stiles put his intent of helping Derek into his swirling power. It quickly surrounded Derek's head while Stiles tried to ignore the burning and throbbing in his bleeding arm.  
  
"Sleep!" he finally muttered that one word in Gaelic and watched as his mate's troubled features finally went lax while his body sagged against the wall behind him.  
  
"Stop crying, you idiot. Move. Move, Stiles!" he stuttered to himself. He couldn't let his body give in to shock. He had to stop the bleeding. He had to ignore the thick waves of nausea that hit him from the strong scent of blood. His blood. He didn't look down on his forearm, not wanting to faint and bleed out right there. So he forced himself to get on his shaky legs and stagger towards the bathroom.  
  
He can do this. Piece of cake. He can do this...  
  
In the bathroom he fumbled for the first aid kit and focused on putting some of his potions and balms on the counter too. It was a bit difficult with only one arm, but he managed. Once he drank a bitter potion that would slow his bleeding, got some sterile gauze and antiseptic, he finally looked down at his forearm. All the blood didn't help and he fought back the gagging. He had to hurry to clean and seal the deep slashes. He also had to ignore the possibility that the white he saw might have been a bone.  
  
His good hand was shaking terribly so he had to pause and take a few deep breaths, shouting on the inside to control himself. That voice sounded eerily like that dickhead drill-sergeant Jones everyone hated at the academy. But it did the trick and he could finally start cleaning the wounds only with a few painful curses and hisses. Then Stiles rubbed some healing balms into them with even louder curses. But he had to because without that using only his magic on such deep injuries wouldn't be enough. It was needed to heal the scratches enough so they wouldn't need stitches. Because nu-huh! No needles! Stitching himself up was something that wasn't going to happen!  
  
But it seemed that the balm and his magic were working as his good hand was hovering over the wounds, guiding his magic. Without being able to borrow Derek's healing ability, this was going to be the best he could do. And it was already much more than what he was able of doing a few months back, so he wasn't complaining. No, Stiles was focusing on the spell that helped the magic and the balm do their thing while he was drenched in cold sweat and was fighting the nausea and fainting while sitting on the closed toilet seat.  
  
It took a couple of minutes, but the bleeding slowly stopped and he watched his flesh and skin start to knit back together until the wounds scabbed over. He could keep up the spell only until then, knowing that it wouldn't heal more. Plus he was exhausted to the bone. It was only then that he had realized that tears were streaming down his face all along. Ignoring that, he cleaned the wounds once again before bandaging up his forearm. The scratches will need some time to heal since they were inflicted by an alpha. _His own alpha._ He's going to be lucky if they doesn't scar. As the final act, he popped a few painkillers with some water for good measure and sat there with his head leaned back against the tile. His sobs were quiet, the tears hot and it felt as if a hand was twisting his heart in an iron-grip. But he let himself cry, unable to keep it all in any longer.  
  
After some time, he didn't feel like puking or fainting, so he blew his nose in some toilet paper and wiped his face again, the rune on his good arm was lightly throbbing in time with the injuries. Stiles ignored that in favor of cleaning up the bathroom and the floor wherever his blood dripped on his way to the bathroom.  
  
Once that was done and his limbs felt like led, he changed into clean clothes and dragged their pillows and cover from the bed to the corner. He put a pillow under Derek's head once he adjusted his body into a more comfortable position. The steady, deep breaths told Stiles that Derek was deeply asleep without dreams. He made sure with his intent not to allow him any dreams. He placed down his own pillow too, but instead of laying his head on that, he put it on Derek's chest as he carefully nuzzled to the warm body and pulled the cover over them.  
  
"I love you..." he whispered hoarsely as he finally closed his burning eyes, blinking away a few more tears and fainted into his own exhausted sleep, the darkness lingering in his thoughts.  
  



End file.
